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CLementine: Kimberly ’93

If you are looking for music that will crawl up under your skin and stroke your bones delicately like a weird uncle might while you sleep then I recommend this album.

Vocals that feel like semi-sober Lou Reed rants, accompanied by instrumentals that allow you to want to watch the love of your life leave, forever.

Nathan Daniels of CLementine has accomplished something that is not very easy: acoustic love stories that aren’t cum drenched in patheticness. I’ll admit, his voice is quite flat at times, but I believe that it is only “flat” if it sounds bad, and this is far from it.

I think it enforces his style even deeper. I know that sounds cliche, but it really works well with the instruments that are written and produced so gently. A very beautiful sound is created by this Montreal native. And by the way, for those of you who don’t live in Canada or don’t know this, Montreal is good for 3 things: women, beer, and music, and that’s coming from a diehard Toronto Maple Leafs fan who has all the right reasons to burn Montreal to the ground, so take my word for it.

In short, this album has given me the heebie jeebies crackling down to my finger loins, while at the same time (d)raping my skull with inspiration. Looking forward to more from CLemintine in years to come.

One more thing. As I publish this review I have to pick what category of music it lies under, and my favourite part about this process is that it clarifies for me when I love a band because if I can’t pinpoint what genre it is it pleases me ever so much.

And another thing, take his word for it: if you want a more advanced experience on this album listen to it through headphones.

Thanks to the poorly done job of the thought police, Stove has avoided the loony bin going on 23 years strong.
Psychedelic Space Folk. What’s that? That my dear friend is the ideal genre of music in my perverted eyes. But Stove, what band sound like that? None, you asshole, that’s why I like it. Pushing the limits, disrupting the norm, and slapping conventionalism in the dick gets me harder than silicon boobies on a rogue planet.